Beauty
by XerxesRises
Summary: Emma Swan has come to know that there is true beauty in the world. Beauty is in the white puff of breath from his lips in the cold. Beauty is in the eager blue of his gaze as he whispers that he's a survivor. Beauty is in the rough grasp of his palm against hers as they walk down the streets of Storybrooke together. One-shot, slight M


_A/N: I had this as part of my one-shot series, Displays of Affections, but I wanted to separate it out from that. Fair warning in case you already read it there._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but my shoes._

* * *

Emma Swan has come to know that there is true beauty in the world.

Beauty is in the white puff of breath from his lips in the cold. Beauty is in the eager blue of his gaze as he whispers that he's a survivor. Beauty is in the rough grasp of his palm against hers as they walk down the streets of Storybrooke.

There's beauty in the silence at the end of the day, in the simple way that they just _breathe _each other in.

It's in the way he's vulnerable with her, in the way he never intends to let her down, in the way he protects her heart as valiantly as any knight, as resourceful as only a pirate can be. It's in the way that he watches her, in the way he _sees _her, in the way that he reads her, understands her and has since their start.

There's beauty in the mundane, in running errands on her days off, in attending school events, in teaching him how to use his "talking phone." There's beauty in how she's gone from being a singular to a plural, from a _me_ to a _we_.

He's become an integral thread in the tapestry of her story and she knows that without him, it will unravel, that _she_ will unravel.

And there's infinite beauty in her acceptance of this truth.

* * *

Killian Jones has chased riches, fair winds, pleasures immeasurable and of course, revenge, believing each time that he'll find happiness if he can just obtain but one. He falls far short every time, his damaged heart needing more than the shallow moments of bliss that his fickle desires can provide.

A life lived on the ruins of a false happiness is no life, he quickly realizes after meeting her.

It's her perfectly damaged beauty that first catches his attention, her strength despite her wounds that intrigues him; he knows he loves her when her imperfections become perfections, when her weaknesses become strengths in his eyes.

He pines for her, he's not afraid to admit it. He gladly leaves his pride behind, embraces patience, and stops chasing _things_…starts chasing _her _instead_. _And when she slowly, oh so slowly, begins to turn to him, he feels as if the darkness of his heart has begun to fade in the white light of her affections.

He sees beauty in her smile, in the shifting blue-green of her eyes, in the tears that clump on her eyelashes when she cries. He knows it when she holds his hand, wraps her arm around his waist, kisses his cheek in hello or goodbye. He breathes it in when he wakes, his nose pressed into the tendrils of her hair, he hears it in the beat of his heart when she smiles up at him shyly, sweetly.

He feels it in the seconds, minutes, hours of every day that she shares her life with him, understands it in ways he never has before simply because, wonder of wonders, she's finally let him in.

* * *

Even when it's hard, even when it hurts, there's beauty in their relationship. It's not a fairytale, it's not easy, they both make mistakes, but they never give up or in. They fight, they make up, they laugh, cry, and _all_ of it is beautiful.

She often wonders if she'll be strong enough to hear his worst tales, to know how dark his heart has been. She's not worried that _she _won't be able to handle his truths, she has darkness within her as well. She worries that she won't be strong enough for _him, _that with a word or a gesture, she'll let him down.

It feels foreign, but very right to know that he needs her as deeply as she needs him, that they are equals in the way their insecurities can rule their responses, their actions, and reactions. And there is immense beauty in that, in the way that they support and strengthen each other.

When he forgives her, so easily, so surely, she can feel his own unique brand of magic heal her sins, feel him making her whole again. She does the same for him, forgives him, accepts him, reminds him of all the good that he's done, and continues to do. She'll remind him every day, for the rest of their lives, if he needs her to.

Even when it's ugly and harsh, even when the edges are sharp and jagged, there's still beauty in his love, in his touch, his kiss, in the tremble of his voice when he tells her for the first time that he loves her.

And he does love her, even when she says hurtful things, even when the darkness takes her, he loves her still, pulls her back with the strength of that love, with the _beauty _of it.

He becomes her savior, just as she has always been for him. It does not make her weak, it makes her stronger.

* * *

When he wakes from his slumber after their first night together, he rolls onto his side to watch her sleep. His heart is full in a way he hasn't felt in centuries, perhaps ever, if he's truly honest with himself.

This feeling, this_ love_, is beyond all comprehension, all comparison to any he's ever known.

He's loved before and has been well loved in return. He vowed dark vengeance when that love was taken from him, and as devastating as that loss was, he still continued to live. But, as he looks upon Emma now, he knows that if he were to lose her, there would be nothing left for him in this world. She makes everything more vibrant, more intense, more _real_, and he knows that he would not be able to bear how grey his life would become if she ever ceased to exist.

He remembers (was it only just hours before?) her touch on his skin, her acceptance of his scars, her sincerity when she'd told him that he's beautiful to her. He'd blushed at that, and it surprises him to know that he still can after three hundred plus years of sex and violence.

And when he'd finally slid home inside her, she'd stolen his breath, his sanity, and he'd never been more desperate to give himself to anyone. He remembers the hazy blue-green of her eyes as he'd moved above her, her lips parting on a sigh as she'd watched him. He remembers the touch of her lips on his skin when she'd whispered that she

loves,

loves,

_loves_ him as she falls.

And when he follows her over the edge, he knows he's given her his essence, his_ life_, and it's more beautiful than just sex, this joining of their souls.

He's still watching her when she wakes, when she smiles, when she _beams _at him, and he thinks that he's never seen anything as beautiful as Emma Swan in love.

* * *

She's never expected the simplicity of it all, the beauty of a _yes_, and the happiness it brings. For all his skill at becoming a twenty-first century man, he's old-fashioned when it comes to some things, like asking her father for her hand and getting down on bended knee.

The smile he gives her, the way he whoops and pulls her into his arms to swing her around in a wide arc, and the gentle way he sets her back on her feet with tears in his eyes, these things are all a testament to the gentle man he's always been with her.

And when they're alone and celebrating and he takes her desperately from behind, pressing his hook into the small of her back as her hands clench in his sheets, the ruby red of her new ring glinting on her finger, she's knows that the pirate is never far away.

There's a beauty in the contradiction, in the duality of his character that she can't look away from, that she craves. He knows better than anyone what it's like to have a heart full of light and dark, he knows better than anyone what it's like to fight one in favor of the other, to give into one to _spite_ the other.

So it's with no small measure of faith that she trusts him with her heart, because he'll always see the best in her, even when she can't see it in herself, even when she doesn't _choose_ it for herself.

* * *

They live a long life, a happy one. He cherishes her, protects her, and she does the same for him. There are good moments, _beautiful _moments that fill their days. There are children and grandchildren, all with a little bit of pirate in them and a little bit of savior.

There's true love, abiding and deep, and it's beautifully messy and imperfectly perfect, and it's _theirs_. They _own _it, they _share_ it, and when he prepares to leave this realm, he does so with a full heart, his only regret that he hadn't lived more of his four hundred plus years with her.

Happy endings are never what we expect, he whispers to her, and he sees the way she smiles through her tears.

And he tells her that she was and has always been, his happy ending. That even at their worst, he's never been more content than when he's with her. He tells her, with his last breath, that he

loves,

loves,

_loves_ her,

and as his eyes close for the last time, he thinks that he's never seen anything quite as beautiful as Emma Swan loving him.

* * *

Looking back over their life together, she thinks how easy it was to love him once she got out of her own way. Leave it up to a pirate to steal her heart so completely, so utterly. She often wonders if maybe he has it on him still, keeping it tucked in the pocket of one of his leather coats, effectively stealing it one last time.

On second thought, no, he wouldn't do that. Bad form, she thinks as she presses her hand over her aching chest, trying to rub away the pain that occupies the spot where his love once lived.

She misses him, every second, minute, hour of _every_ day. Her hand reaches for his in the night, in the middle of the day, and she has to swallow her sobs when she realizes that he's not there, that he'll never be there to hold her hand again.

She curses him, not for leaving her because she knows that if he'd had a choice he wouldn't have. She curses him instead for leaving _first. _

He'd told her once that if she went first, he would simply cease to live and she thinks that maybe he's the lucky one because the loss of him is more than even a savior can endure.

She tries not to think of him at first because it's just too painful. She leaves the room when others mention him, unable to bear the rush of tears and the screams that threaten to break from her throat. She boxes up his clothes, his leather coats, his wedding ring and other jewelry, not able to see any of it and know that he'll never wear it again. She runs from his memory, his ghost, as easily as she'd once run from his love.

It's Henry who calms her, reminds her that life is made up of good moments and bad and that you have to appreciate the good when they happen, that you can't be afraid to _live_ simply because there may be some tears mixed in with the laughter.

And when he tells her that Killian would want her to remember, to laugh and to love, she knows it to be true.

It's then that she remembers the beauty of their time together, of the scars that they gave each other, and the salve that their love provided for their wounds. She thinks of the way he had whispered her name that first night together, of the way he had smiled at her when she woke the next morning, and how he'd smelled like the winter wind the night he proposed.

She remembers how nervous he'd been when she'd told him she was pregnant the first time, how nervous they both were, and how Henry had been the one to calm them, to reassure them that they were going to be wonderful parents because they already were to him.

She remembers how he'd held his son and then his daughter and then his son after each of their births, how each tender kiss had been pressed to their foreheads with such care, and how he counted their little fingers over and over again, in awe of their whole and perfect hands. She remembers how he'd taught them all to gamble, to sword fight, to ride horses, and sail and she remembers how he'd tuck them into their beds and dried their tears after every nightmare.

She thinks of emergency room visits with broken bones and first dates and weddings and grandchildren and how he'd been there with her, beside her, through it all. He was her partner, her lover, her friend, the person she loved most.

The memories make it easier to continue without him, although nothing will truly ever remove the pain from her heart.…She dreams of him more readily now, can hear his laugh when their eldest son is happy, can hear his dry wit in their daughter's voice, can see the pretty blue of his eyes in her youngest son's gaze…She can even taste his kiss when she takes a sip of rum.

And when her time comes, she tells all their children how beautiful her life became the day she met him, even while surrounded by blood and dirt and death. She whispers up to them that she loves them, that they shouldn't be sad because she's lived a full and _happy_ life.

She tells them to enjoy the good moments, to take time to truly _live _and when she closes her eyes for the very last time, she finds him again, feels his hand slide into hers and it's as if he never left.

He calls her his love, his Swan, tells her he's proud of her, that he loves her and she remembers, oh, how she remembers what it's like to be loved by him.

It's a hundred billion heartbeats that whisper his name, it's countless tears shed over joys and sorrows, it's epic battles fought by each other's side, and it's boundless and true, it's a love that knows no equal.

It's glorious and joyful, built on blood and bones and breath, and it's the _beauty_ of her life.

* * *

_**Hook **__me up with some reviews, my lovelies! _


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